


Post-Match Analysis

by dirtylittlegreasemonkey



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, PWP, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 22:00:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19385449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtylittlegreasemonkey/pseuds/dirtylittlegreasemonkey
Summary: After the big football match Aaron and Robert escape the pub and have sex. That's it. That's all the plot.





	Post-Match Analysis

It should have been more obvious to him. The way Aaron kept catching his gaze, his bare legs swinging, the amount of beer and playful, slurry grins. He should have known when Aaron made an offhand comment about Liv being out, when he plonked himself down beside Robert and took his wrist and said “Proper goalie’s hands these are…real, big, goalie hands.” He should have known they’d barely make it through the front door, Aaron standing in the middle of their living room and stripping off his shirt, hair damp at the temples, flat in patches and ruffled on top.

They were out of breath, stupidly, standing in the centre of the room, door still open, laughing at something – Robert forgot what. Aaron sniffed his football shirt and tossed it onto the floor behind the sofa and Robert didn’t even care.

“Shower.” Aaron said it, not as a question or invitation, just a flat-out intention.

“No,” Robert said, knowing he was flushed in the face from almost racing back from the pub, knowing his shirt was untucked and unbuttoned to his chest. He shut the front door.

“Robert I’m-”

“Disgusting and sweaty. I know.” Robert moved in close, towered where Aaron shrunk and put his hands up Aaron’s shorts, so he had his goalie hands, his goalie fingers, on Aaron’s thighs. “Maybe that’s how I want you.” He wanted to peel Aaron’s shorts down with his teeth and throw Aaron’s knee over his shoulder, unbalance him, unnerve him and take a slow route of long, greedy kisses along his inner thigh.

Aaron looped his arms around Robert’s neck and Robert’s hands naturally slid around his bare waist, pulling them together hip to hip. They stood there for a moment just listening to each other’s laboured breathing. Aaron smelt of heat and deodorant, of cut grass and beer.

“You know, this is the first time in ages we’ve had the house to ourselves,” Robert said and smoothed his hands down Aaron’s spine until they were both on his arse, applying enough pressure to keep Aaron hot against him.

“Yeah,” Aaron said, his eagerness coming out in pants and pupil-blown eyes directed at Robert’s mouth. “What you waiting for then? You need a ref to blow his whistle?”

Robert stared at Aaron’s wet bottom lip, his sheen of confidence, and then the both of them lunged forward, mouths meeting in an airless, desperate surge, Aaron gripping the back of Robert’s hair. With a groan in the back of his throat and a strength that came from nowhere, Robert took Aaron’s weight, Aaron’s feet hooked at the base of his back and carried him until they were flush against one of the pillars in their kitchen, rutting together and kissing as if they were starved of it. Aaron’s legs came down and Robert waisted no time in getting his shorts down, fitting his hand around Aaron’s erect cock before Aaron even had time to blink.  

Robert hadn’t pondered much over whether he had a football kink. But the physicality? The adrenaline, the muscle, the toned, pumping legs, the raw masculinity of it all? And seeing Aaron out of breath, flushed and damp, the thought of him wrestling around on the floor? It brought back all too many good memories.

“Turn around,” Robert said already manhandling him, telling him to wait there as he fumbled in a discreet kitchen compartment for lube he knew they kept down there in case of emergencies.

When he returned, Aaron was almost where he left him, forehead pushed into his forearm, bent against the pillar, touching himself and trying not to. Robert took over a little, stroking until Aaron flared, a whimper coming from his chest.

“Don’t, I’ll come.”

“Thought you wanted my big goalie hands on you,” he said teasingly, flicking the cap of the lube with one hand and pushing his own clothes below his hips.

“In me,” Aaron said, half-muffled with his teeth biting down into his arm.

“Don’t.” Robert said, aching at the thought. He was never going to last this.

Robert coated his cock with a liberal amount of lube and then slicked the liquid down against Aaron’s hole. The width of his handspan across his cheeks made Aaron’s arse agonisingly slippery. Tempting. Robert pulled him apart with his thumbs, easing the head of his cock to just rest there, teasing him with a gentle, nudging rhythm.

“I could get off like this,” he said, watching Aaron’s face turn to the side, his eyes screwed up. He still had his football boots on. Robert could feel the heat from Aaron’s muscles still burning. He wants to run his tongue everywhere, wants to feel his thighs around him.

Instead he sucked in a breath and filled Aaron until the two of them were stuttered in shock. There was no lip from Aaron, no smart-mouthed flirting from Robert. He just exhaled the word _fuck_ and let his hips do the rest, pumping into Aaron and holding him firm and white at the bended waist.

All Aaron could manage in strangled cries was a mixture of “Oh good” and “Oh god” and it made Robert’s ego inflate, his cock swell and he saw nothing but pure, dark lust and a tight, frantic race to finish. When he was near he slowed right down, curling right into Aaron, sweat running down his forehead and his fucked, blissed out husband came too, in low jerks of exhausted, almost-surprise.

When they were both done, hot and salty and kissing the life back into each other, Robert unbuttoned his shirt and does a rough job of cleaning them both up with it. And this time when Aaron said “Shower?” it was a question and an invitation, and the perfect hot and soapy finish to their first match.

 


End file.
